


Soulmate Aus

by alittleunstable



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, tw:suicidal thoughts in chapter three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-06 18:53:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3144860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleunstable/pseuds/alittleunstable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Simmorse, Skimmons and Skimmorse soulmate Aus that I've posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skimmons; injuries

**Author's Note:**

> For the purpose of this AU Skye was never shot in T.R.A.C.K.S.

For the first thirteen years of her life, Skye is convinced she’s one of the rare few who do not have a soulmate. The only bruises that ever show up on her skin are her own, and the one time she’d spotted a large bruise on her back and gotten excited, one of the other girls at the orphanage had said softly, sounding sympathetic, ‘Actually, you fell out of bed last night and landed on my shoe.’, so Skye has pretty much given up hope by the time she’s hit puberty.

 

When it actually happens, when she finally sees proof, her eyes start to sting with elated tears that she quickly hides behind her tennis cap, forcing a relatively calm smile on her face as she tries to hit the ball back to her latest foster mother- Who is actually rather sweet, but she knows it won’t last, it never does. Especially not if they think she’s going to be playing sport with them three times a week, ugh. But her newly burnt finger stings badly and the racket goes tumbling from her hands and she looks up and catches the disappointment on the other woman’s face and looks away. She doesn’t explain that she’s burned, she honestly doesn’t believe it would help.

 

Over the next two years, Skye gets some of the most bizarre second hand injuries and wonders _what the hell_ kind of weirdo her soulmate must be. Chemical burns are the most common, and second to that are tiny scratches on her fingers and she got a particularly bad blister on her inner thumb once, but they’re all small injuries, and always on her fingers. She’s glad they’re somewhere so open, so everyone at the orphanage can see that she won’t be alone forever. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to prove that, but she does.

 

Miles feels like the real deal, when they discover they have a bruise in exactly the same place that she remembers getting, and he has no recollection of. They’d been sleeping together for a little while, when she first saw it. She’d let herself get her hopes up, that she’d found her soulmate young and they’d be together forever, but Skye never had good luck and she should have known better. They discovered they were wrong when they’d been leaving the diner and someone had smacked into Miles so hard that he fell against the door and hit his arm. A huge bruise had blossomed there not thirty minutes later, and Skye’s heart had sank when she realized that she did not have one to match. Still, they stayed together, citing that it didn’t really matter yet, and they’d been happy, hadn’t they?

 

She never even considers any members of the team as her soulmate. If it had been Ward, she’d have been littered with bruises and cuts all the time, and the rest of them? Well, the only other she really considered was Jemma, but there was no way. She’d never be that lucky.

 

When Jemma gets infected with the chitauri virus, she’s so wrapped up in her devastation that she thinks her pale skin and sheen of sweat are a result of how upset she is, as well as the uncomfortable tightness in her stomach. She assumes it’s nothing, but actually it was the first sign.

 

Skye gets closer to Jemma than she’s ever been to anyone, and even as time passes she can’t imagine ever loving anybody else, despite the fact they’ve never even kissed. She feels guilty about it too, like when her soulmate does come, she’ll never be able to show them the love they deserve. It’s a horrible familiar feeling of inadequacy.

 

Skye thoroughly hates her luck yet again when suddenly Ward is Hydra, everything’s gone to shit, Fitz is never going to be the same and Jemma’s gone. Just gone.

 

She abandoned them, just like that. Skye wants to be mad. She tells the others she’s angry, furious, that if she ever sees Jemma again god help her, but she’s not. She just misses her and wants her to come back, wants to run her fingers through Jemma’s hair. Wants to be Jemma’s soulmate. It’s just not fair that Jemma belongs to someone else.

 

In other news, her soulmate has started working out. She knows the familiar ache in her muscles when she wakes up, and she’s long past feeling it herself anymore. Workouts just feel good now, refreshing. But this is the ache of someone who has exercised past their limit and probably can’t even sit down properly today. The thought amuses her, for a while. Obviously her soulmate doesn’t really know the meaning of limits.

 

The next few days after that are scary though. Her usually careful and steady soulmate is suddenly getting bruised a whole lot more often, and she realises the moment pain rips through her shoulder that her soulmate has just shot a gun. Not correctly, obviously, if her shoulder is in this much pain, but still, the thought makes her blood run cold.

 

They get the intel that Jemma’s cover is blown and Skye feels like her whole body could float from how fucking happy she is, because Jemma didn’t abandon them, she left them so that she could help them, and if that isn’t the most _Jemma_ thing to do. Of course, then she’s not so happy because if Jemma’s cover is blown she’s in serious trouble and that’s really not good.

 

They’ve only made it a few steps into the base when a white hot pain shoots through Skye’s leg and she’s down, almost pulling Trip down with her when she instinctually reaches out to grab the nearest solid object- Which happens to be his arm, and when she looks down there’s blood pouring from a wound that’s hidden by her pants and oh god, what’s happened to her soulmate? And why did it have to be now, of all times?

 

“Damn,” Trip swears, and hoists her up, “We gotta get her back to the playground,” He says urgently to Coulson, who shakes his head, though he’s not looking as calm and collected as usual.

 

“No, this means we need to find Agent Simmons,” He says, “Before they both bleed out.” Trip blinks, and then looks shocked.“They’re?”

 

They’re what? Skye wants to ask, but she’s kind of in excruciating pain and none of the words are making sense because her leg hurts so much, why does it hurt so much? Trip hoists her up and she vaguely recognises May and Lance going ahead of them with the orders to find Jemma and bring her back to the base as soon as possible, and then she’s being carried back into one of the three aircrafts and Trip’s laying her down and using a pocket knife to cut off one leg of her jeans and oh god no, they were eighty-nine dollars and her absolute favourite, Jemma helped pick them out when she insisted they have a day out together and now they’re ruined.

 

“Noooo,” She manages to whine, voice thick with pain, “Why would you do that?” She knows why, of course she does, but she just gives him her fiercest glare and tries not to falter at the amused smile on his face.

 

That’s when May comes in, a limp Jemma in her arms, blood streaming down the exact same leg that Skye’s bleeding from. The realization hits her so hard that her breath catches in her throat and she forgets about the pain for a moment because Jemma’s her soulmate. Jemma Simmons, the girl of her freaking dreams, literally. Her soulmate.

 

All she manages to do is blink owlishly, until Trip pushes down on her leg and she’s thrown back into the pain and _Ah,_ does he need to press that hard? Fuck. And then she’s looking at Jemma’s leg again, as May’s carefully tending to it, and she’s very worried for Jemma. It must have been terrifying for her, the whole thing, and now that she has the behind the scenes info on how much Jemma pushed her body, she knows how tough the rest had to have been. She wants to hold her but she can’t, and that’s the worst thing. She falls unconscious hoping that Jemma makes it through this.

 

 

For the first thirteen years of Jemma’s life, she wishes her soulmate would stop being so bloody reckless. Jemma’s suffered a broken arm that wasn’t her own, two twisted ankles, and various oddly shaped bruises that are sometimes as big as her fist. She has a feeling that perhaps he’s a football player. Her mother had told her, as they’d come back from the hospital, a cast on her broken arm at the tender age of eight, that lots of boys played football at that age and were quite rough with each other, which would explain the injuries. Jemma had tried not to sound disappointed when she asked, “Not girls?” to which she received a disapproving frown, and never mentioned it again.

 

She feels instant guilt only a few seconds after the beaker has erupted into flames and very painfully burnt her fingers. She glances towards her doorway from where she’s seated on the floor of her bedroom, and quite casually drops a fire blanket over the beaker- It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last, but it is the first time she’s hurt herself during an experiment, and she instantly thinks that her soulmate is getting hurt enough without her adding to that. She’s always been a very careful and steady person, whereas wherever her soulmate is, they’re obviously the opposite. She sticks her burnt finger in her mouth and gets up to run it under some cold water.

 

Years pass and she gets fewer bruises than she used to, and so she’s deduced that her soulmate is probably not a football player anymore, considering the injuries would have gotten worse, not better. That kind of brightens her mood too, because honestly she’s found that she’s very much attracted to women and not so much men, so while of course she’d be happy to meet her soulmate in general, it’s nice that there could be a chance it’s a girl.

 

When she meets Fitz though, her kind of hopes that he’s her soulmate. He’s everything she’d want in one, and after three months of a strong, deep friendship, she enquires, ‘Did you play football when you were younger?’ Knowing it’s a shot in the dark and honestly, there are lots of other ways that her soulmate could have been bruised. Fitz shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. ‘Nah, all tha’ tacklin’ and running really wasn’ my thing.’ And she soon discovers that most of the bruises on Fitz’s body are the result of his soulmate, and that he has no qualms about complaining about that. Constantly.

 

Jemma feels like she’s betraying her soulmate as soon as she meets Skye. She confides in Fitz in the late hours of the night that she’s sure she’s doing something wrong by finding her attractive, and Fitz just smiles and shakes his head from where he’s sitting on his bunk, inspecting his ankle after proclaiming that it was sprained and it definitely wasn’t his fault, rather indignantly. Fitz still isn’t quite so tolerant of his soulmate’s injuries as she is. She thinks it’s because he’s stubborn and doesn’t like having to deal with the fallout of a ‘mistake’ that wasn’t his.

 

“Y’ can think a girl is nice t’ look at, Simmons,” He tells her, “Tha’s not a crime. Not like y’ soulmate can read your mind.”

 

“Well yes, I know that,” Jemma sighs, “But aren’t I supposed to wait? Isn’t that how it works?”

 

Fitz shrugs his shoulders. “Y’ might not even meet them for years, an’ I’m sure they’ve probably been with someone.”

 

“You think so?” Jemma asks, trying not to feel upset by the thought. She didn’t own them, she hadn’t even met them. It would explain a certain soreness she’d felt for a few days when she was nineteen.

 

“Yeah. Why not?”

 

It’s confirmed that Skye is very much not her soulmate when she never mentions feeling ill or sick when Jemma’s searching for a cure for her infection, and even though Jemma had thought that already, it still makes her heart heavy.

 

The time passes and they go through so much together, the days become a blur until suddenly everything goes to hell, Ward’s Hydra, Fitz is brain damaged and she’s infiltrating Hydra without any backup whatsoever.

 

She starts working out, and immediately overestimates how much she can do at once. She’s trying too hard, too desperate to fix everything, that she’s lost in her own head for over two hours and when she steps off the treadmill she wobbles on her feet and tries very hard not to fall over. She feels sick.

 

They tell her she needs to learn how to shoot, and she can’t say no. She has to be in character. She has to make this convincing. She says yes as enthusiastically as she can, and does terribly. Her hand is shaking, her grip is weak, and when she shoots the gun kicks back and she gasps to avoid yelping in pain. Her superiors chuckle a bit and her face reddens, but she gets through it, and after a few weeks she’s shooting like a pro.

 

It’s two days before her planned extraction when she’s shot in the leg and left for dead at the evacuating Hydra base. She’d been found out, when she’d been so meticulous with her cover, she didn’t know where she’d gone wrong. Either way, she was screwed, and her cell had been ripped from her hands by her shooter. All of this, all the intel she’d gathered, was never going to be shared, she’d never be able to help Fitz. Never be able to fix anything. She’d failed. It had all been for nothing.

 

When she wakes up, she’s in a hospital bed that seems larger than most, and there’s a warm body beside her, not too close but not very far either, and she can hear the beeping of two heart monitors. Her heart picks up speed and she opens her eyes, beyond confused, only to see Skye besides her, propped up on her elbow, grinning toothily. Her eyes widen seconds later because she knows she has the same scratch on her cheek that Skye has, and the same bruise on her collarbone-Which she wouldn’t have been able to see but Skye’s got one of Jemma’s old oversized sweaters on instead of a hospital gown like Jemma, and her eyes instinctively move lower until she catches sight of the one thing there’s no way can be what she thinks.

 

“Hey,” Skye says, and holds up her bandaged leg. “Twinsies?”


	2. Simmorse ; words

Jemma is incredibly protective of her words. Her father doesn’t have any, nor does her mother, and when she was born they had been overjoyed for her. She hides them under sweaters and jackets and once, when she was really desperate, a poncho from the dressups bin in primary school, but she really does treasure them. It’s just that, well…They’re kind of, embarrassing.

 

Don’t you seem nervous?

 

As though it wasn’t enough that her teachers call her either timid or too strong willed, even her soulmate would someday classify her as a weak child. She knows, really, there are much worse words out there. A girl in her class has the words You’ve got vomit in your hair across her wrist which honestly, is just awful for her, but still, somehow Jemma’s words bug her more. She isn’t sure how much older her soulmate will be, because she’d been born with her words, but if she (and she’s certain it’s a she, the handwriting, while messy, is feminine) looks at her like a frail child, isn’t that worse than momentarily having vomit in your hair?

 

Fitz’s words are sweet. A simple, Hey Turbo, It’s good to finally meet you. It’s classic, a lot of people have similar words, but the word Turbo is distinctive. Unless Fitz becomes a superhero and names himself that, in which case it would be rather difficult to figure that one out. But she doubts that, he doesn’t even want to leave the lab.

 

Her father speaks in hushed words with Melinda May when they both think she’s asleep, and she wants to get up and listen properly, but May can sense when people are spying. You cannot spy on a spy. Well, at least not on a very good one. She can pick out a few words, like her field position on her new team, and Tony’s renovations on the tower, Clint’s still not getting out of bed due to the grief of losing Coulson, but surely…that’s all nothing.

 

Except that it isn’t nothing, it’s everything, and suddenly she’s working in a lab on a plane with Fitz and a very not dead Phil Coulson, and while that’s all just what she wanted apart from the keeping it secret thing, there’s something concerning her, and it’s mainly Tony Stark. She’s almost certain her father is going to move into the tower in her absence, and then of course, Tony being Tony, an accident will happen. She’s really not looking forward to finding out what.

 

Although, on the bright side, her team becomes her family of sorts, away from her father. Skye is cryptic as ever, but she learns so much about Skye herself, that her past hardly matters. They go through some tough things, in particular Ward betraying them and revealing himself as Hydra. Jemma’s just glad that Skye and Ward’s words didn’t match, because if they had, she was sure that Skye would be even more of a wreck.

She’s only seen Skye’s words once, when they’ve had a bit to drink and are lying on the cargo ramp, Skye’s legs sprawled across Jemma’s lap, a bottle in her hand, the neck pressed to her lips. Skye suddenly gasps and sits up, and says,

 

"Were those your words?" She points to Jemma’s usually hidden collarbone, where the D and O are sticking out, and Jemma blushes a bit, pulling her sweater back over them, nodding. 

 

"Yes, but they’re awful." She mumbles, all the while her fingers brush against them, warmth enveloping her from the reminder that they’re there. Her soulmate is out there, waiting for her. It’s a wonderful thought.

 

Skye giggles, “Oh, you wanna see awful?” She asks, though Jemma has a feeling she’s not waiting for an answer, and she’s clearly intoxicated because she unbuttons her pants and slides them down, putting her thigh on display. Jemma chokes on a laugh because she’s trying to be nice, but oh dear lord, those really are the worst words.

 

Please, for the love of god, put some clothes on.

 

"Right?" Skye says enthusiastically, "I don’t even know how this is even going to be a thing. Like, why? Why won’t I have clothes on?" She continues to ramble, giggling every now and then before seeming to remember something, and asking, "Hey, can I see the rest of yours?"

 

Jemma dips her sweater just enough to read them, and Skye frowns.

"But those aren’t that bad. Maybe they’re just concerned for you?"

 

"I’m not a child. I can protect myself, Skye." Jemma mutters stubbornly. Skye beams again, completely smashed, and bops her on the nose.

 

"You sure can Jem."

 

She reads in the paper that Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers and two other unidentified heroes have moved into Stark Tower, now renamed, ‘Avengers Tower’. She saw this coming a mile away. She doesn’t call him because she’s mad, and if she gets mad at him, he’ll certainly have trouble containing himself and well, that’s not a great outcome. So she holds it in, despite the anger and concern filling her up.

 

She’s met all of the others, and she likes them well enough, but it’s Tony she really dislikes. She tries not to think about it, instead throwing herself into her work and hoping for the best, except that, it’s a lot harder now. Fitz is brain damaged, their relationship has a dagger lodged in the middle of it, and she feels, well, kind of useless.

So she tells them she’s going to see her family, and Coulson looks like he wants to ask her something, but opts not to, instead just asking her to let him know how Clint is. She has half a mind to say no, after all he’d faked his own death and ruined everything. She can’t even tell Bruce who she’s working for, now.

 

She’s on her way there when she’s captured, a bag thrown over her head that is strangely reminiscent of Skye’s introduction to the team, and despite the fact she’s learned a few tricks from Trip and Skye and even May, she can’t fight her way out of this one. Which is a bit of a blow to her self esteem. She’s not sure who her kidnappers think she is, but they’re surely wrong. Unless they think she’s the illicit love child of the Hulk, in which case they are spot on and have done their research very, very well. But she’s pretty certain they just saw her typing in the code for the doors and decided to snatch her.

 

It’s cold, wherever they’ve taken her, and she can hear water dripping somewhere, so it’s probably not so sanitary either. She really hopes she doesn’t get any wounds here, she’s not sure she wouldn’t get infected with something awful.

The bag comes off once her wrists and legs are secured to a seat, and she looks around, assessing her surroundings only to pause at the sight of the barrel of a gun, pointed right at her. She’s tied to what she thinks was at one point a park bench. Her eyes move to the woman holding the gun. She’s beautiful, of course, all the evil ones are these days. Jemma bites her lip. The blonde smiles, slowly and with a hint of ‘I know something you don’t know’ behind it.

 

"Don’t you seem nervous?"

.

 

Bobbi’s words appear when she’s four, and her Mother gasps and covers them up immediately, telling her in aggravated whispers, as though it’s somehow her fault, that this would give them an awful reputation. Little four year old Bobbi pulls her blonde hair out of the way to get a look for herself, and then frowns. She can’t read it very well, it’s a long sentence, but she looks up at her mother and asks,

 

"But what does it say?"

 

Her mother meets her eyes, gaze softening with pity. “Oh, sweetheart,” She says, her southern twang strong, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

 

She feels as though she definitely has a right to know what her words are, but her mother refuses to tell her. She feels angry, but she’s not sure what to do with that anger entirely. She ends up taking all the markers out and scribbling on her bedroom walls with them. She gets smacked for it, but it’s worth it.

 

It’s not until a week later, when she shows Clint Barton, a boy in a passing circus act, that she finds out what it says. He eyes her with amusement after he reads the words on her belly, showing her his own as it’s only fair, a lovely, neat scrawling of, I’m the kind of suit that’s on your side right now, Barton. He reads hers to her, finger trailing the letters as he reads- He does that a lot, she thinks it must help with his aim, and she’s going to miss him when the circus moves on.

 

Maybe that has something to do with the chair I’m tied to, or maybe it’s more to do with the fact you’re pointing a gun at my head.

 

She doesn’t cover it up. She’s proud of her words, accusing as they may be, and she just shrugs when people ask her about it, stating, “It’s a part of me. Who cares?” It’s not until she joins SHIELD that she starts covering up. Words as distinctive as those are the kind of thing that could tear a cover to pieces, so she covers them with combat suits, undershirts, one time she takes a permanent marker to them when she’s been captured in the field. She’d rather not be able to see them at all than let the enemy.

 

She doesn’t see Clint again until she’s deep undercover, and he’s been assigned the same mission as her. She blinks, slowly as she meets his eyes, and his grin widens when they’re left alone in the room to ‘talk business’, all teeth and he still looks just like that little circus boy who read her her words.

 

"Found them yet?" he asks casually, "Or did you accidentally shoot them?"

 

She can’t help it, she grins. “No, I’ve kept the gun pointing to a minimum.” That’s a lie, and they both know it. He chuckles. “You find your suit?”

 

His smile reaches his eyes this time, and he nods. “Yeah. Got lucky, I think. Real lucky.”

 

"Congrats." Bobbi does genuinely feel happy for him, but she’s getting impatient. She’s never been particularly good at waiting for what she wants, and this is no exception. "What’s it like?" She’s never been more curious about anything, but she thinks if anyone could have a close perspective to hers, It’s Barton.

 

"It’s like…" He scrunches his eyebrows together, before shrugging, "Like finding part of yourself you didn’t know was missing."

 

She hitches an eyebrow at him and he looks at her wryly.

 

"I know, cheesy."

 

The mission works out so cleanly that they’re partnered regularly after that, though he does work with Natasha more often than her. She’s never seen Natasha’s words, and she doesn’t think she wants to. The other woman always looks so haunted, even when she’s quirking an eyebrow and making a dry joke, that Bobbi can’t imagine that going very well for her either. It’s sad, actually.

 

When the Avengers are formed, she’s in Cuba interrogating a guy with Hydra links, but she finds out over Comms from Coulson- Clint’s soulmate, it turns out. His words are on his ankle, a scribble of, God, you suits are everywhere today. It’s actually kind of cute, not that she’d admit it. She finds out that Coulson was killed in Action not two hours later. It’s not a good day for her.

 

Clint and Nat introduce her to the rest of them one by one (Bar Thor, who seems to always be either in Asgard or with Jane), she meets Tony first, and instantly she kind of hates and likes him at the same time. He’s an irritating prick, but he’s damn funny. And he gives free reign of the alcohol to those he likes, so that’s definitely a plus. He and Pepper are soulmates, and their words are boring but sweet, and she envies them. Just a bit.

 

She meets Steve after that, and he’s all bashful gentleman with surprisingly sharp wit. He’s also very, very good at video games and she swears not to ever play against him again. For someone who was frozen for 70 years, he’s damn good at mario kart.

 

Bruce is her favorite. He’s a quiet kind of smart, reserved- And for a very good reason, but still, something about him is just so calming to her as well. Plus, he understands her science chatter, they have proper conversations, meaningful ones that she knows will stay between just them. He doesn’t have any words, and she doesn’t ask him about why that is, but he tells her about his daughter, who also has PhDs in Biochemistry as well, and is all the love he needs in his life. She likes that.

 

Not long after they’ve all moved in together, she gets wind of a plot to kidnap Bruce’s daughter. Well, she doesn’t, Clint does, and he asks for her assist on it. Natasha’s out of the game for now, a mission had gone wrong and for once the Black Widow had not come out unscathed. Bobbi had seen her words then, entirely by accident as Nat lay there, unconcious, written across her hip, Whoa dude I’m so sorry, I thought this was my room-Fuck where’s my bra? It’s the opposite of what she thought might be set in Natasha’s skin, and she grins to herself as she leaves, because if there’s one thing she needs its a little humour in her life.

 

Either way, she manages to intercept, pretending to have been sent in from the big office (She assumes it’s Hydra, they haven’t been able to find the proper details out, but she assumes her Hydra cover, which has yet to be blown, as Agent Morse, interrogator.) They accept her in without question and she wonders where these guys even come from, they’re all the same. Stupid and agressive.

 

She comes in to see the poor girl tied to the flaking park bench tightly. A few splinters are the least of their problems though, so she nods to one of the goons to remove the sack while she holds the gun up. She’s planning on giving the impression she’s going to take her out, but shooting the other two at the last second, but to maintain her cover she speaks.

She doesn’t look much like Bruce, though she’s very beautiful. He’d mentioned she was British, hadn’t he? Grew up with her Mum in England as far as she knew. She shouldn’t be thinking about this while the brunette’s looking at her gun, startled. Wrong somehow. Like contemplating breakfast before smacking a kitten. Not to say Jemma was a kitten, but she did look pretty damn freaked out.

 

"Don’t you seem nervous?" She finally says, and the brunette scowls and lifts her chin, indignantly telling her,

 

"Maybe that has something to do with the chair I’m tied to, or maybe it’s more to do with the fact you’re pointing a gun at my head."

It’s like a jolt of electricity through her whole body, she can’t help but stare for a moment. And then, without looking away from the other woman, she fires a round into each guard- Dendrotoxin, though she wouldn’t be too averse to normal bullets, and unties her.

 

"Bobbi Morse. Clint sent me. He’s waiting outside." She finally manages, and Jemma exhales and nods, looking relieved.

 

"I thought you were Hydra," She admits quietly as they sneak out of the room, into the even more disgusting hall. She watches Bobbi take three more guys out, and then another two after her gun is knocked out of her hand. When Bobbi turns back to her, her eyes are wide and she’s biting her lip. "That was…You’re certainly very good at your job."

 

Bobbi beams at her, unexpectedly filled with pleasure at Jemma’s approval, “I train hard.” She smirks a little, leaning in and raising her eyebrows. “I play hard, too.”

 

It’s worth it for the flaming red blush that lights up the brunette’s face, as she looks at her feet. they get to the front, where Clint is waiting in the quinjet, and Bobbi’s grin must speak for itself because his eyes dart between them before he laughs, a full but laced with his usual background melancholy laugh, and says, “It’s about fuckin’ time, thought it’d be another twenty years at this rate.”

 

She flips him the finger, then turns to help Jemma up. She’s surprisingly fit for a scientist, Bobbi notes, unabashedly checking her out. Jemma’s still a bit red, but when Clint glances very briefly back from the cockpit and says,

 

"You good, kid?" She practically bursts with happiness and nods,

 

"I’m wonderful, really. If it weren’t for Agent Morse, I’d probably be dead right now."

 

"It’s Bobbi," The agent corrects from beside her, offering her a soft look. Jemma’s gaze lingers on her face for a while, before she nods, repeats to herself,

 

"Bobbi," and turns back to Clint, leaning forward to whisper, "She’s amazing.” to him. He grins, but his gaze does not leave the sky after that.

 

Bobbi feels Jemma’s hand slide into hers a few seconds later, and she finds it hard to keep the smile off of her face too, squeezing the slightly smaller hand in hers. She really examines Jemma properly then, thick lips turned up in a smile, cute nose and wide, eager eyes. She’s honestly adorable. That’s going to be an issue. She looks completely harmless and that’s what her enemies will hone in on. She’s going to need to train her, and it’s going to be awful, just looking at Jemma she can see that she’s had some training, but she couldn’t evade her kidnappers so she’s sure it wasn’t very good training. Or maybe not from the right person.

 

She tries not to smirk at the thought of having her pinned against one of the mats, breathing heavy, hair sticking to her skin- And the other times she’ll see Jemma like that, too.

 

That’s why her smirk drops off her face and her face turns white when they’re getting off the quinjet, and she’s looking at a very uncomfortable looking Bruce Banner. Oh, hell.

 

.

 

It’s three months later, when Bobbi and Jemma are curled up in their bed at the tower, when they hear a scream from across the hall, and Skye comes barging in, blouse buttons done up haphazardly, face drained of colour and eyes wide,

 

"Holy fucking shit guys, The Black Widow is my soulmate."


	3. simmorse; marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi's soulmate isn't coping, so Bobbi isn't coping. It's a vicious cycle.
> 
> or/ jemma cannot possibly be dealing with everything as well as it looks like on the show. She just can't.

Bobbi feels it, the first time her soulmate tries to kill herself. It’s the first pull of their soulbond, she’d heard horror stories of this kind of thing, when you feel your soulmate dying and when you look down, their mark is gone. She hesitates, pulling the hem of her shirt up, but her mark isn’t gone, just faded. She stares for a moment, confused, and when she touches the fading mark a wave of her soulmate’s feeling hit her. Depression, anger, confusion. But no desperation. They’re not trying to save themselves. It hits her then, what’s happened. He or she has tried to kill themselves, and she’s angry now, too. Who the fuck let them do this? She focuses all her thoughts on hoping they live, hoping so hard. She's twenty one and she's already at risk of losing her other half.

 

It’s not until five hours later that the mark returns fully, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Wha’s wrong with you?” Lance asks from the bed, voice thick with sleep and drool leaking from the corner of his lips onto the pillow. She just shakes her head at him. He wouldn’t understand.

 

There isn't another problem for a while, in fact later when she feels the mark, she feels excitement, happiness, sometimes pure unadulterated joy and she's over the moon about it. Of course, that doesn't mean she's not going to seriously question what the hell was going on when she meets them, but it's such a relief to know it's over. Only, it's not.

 

The second time is nine years later, she and Lance have broken up, she’s in the field dodging bullets and it grips her, icy cold and sharp and she presses her hand to her stomach through her catsuit. This time she can't afford to look-There's too much gunfire and she can see the target of her operation, an elderly senator with the strangest looking mustache she's ever seen, cowering behind an overturned table. Her priority is getting him out, so despite the fact that she really, really needs to see it, she continues.

 

It's not until the extraction is over, as she's peeling off tough leather that seems irritatingly metaphorical at this moment, that she sees it. It's black, but as her fingers brush bare skin, she feels it. There is slight desperation this time, only with an undercurrent of resignation and self-hatred, and Bobbi can't breathe. She can't understand why her soulmate is so troubled, can't do a thing to help. It's painful. _So_ painful.

 

She's thirty one when she meets her soulmate. Does she realize it? Absolutely not. Yeah, there was a definite pull between she and Jemma Simmons, actual ray of sunshine, but she never considered-Well, if she were entirely honest, she just thought it was because of the months spent keeping her safe.

 

Her soulmate has been experiencing some pretty bad anxiety again, Bobbi finds when her hands mindlessly brush her soulmark in the shower and she's hit by a wave of melancholy and desolation. Her heart sinks in her chest as she remembers what happened the last time she'd felt those particular emotions from them, and fear grips her. She's twitchy for days, causing even Mack to frown at her like she is an alien creature, but she can't handle it. She can't stop checking her mark, either, just to be sure-Just to be completely _certain_.

 

May notices before long, which is typical. The woman has some sort of radar for this shit, she thinks.

 

"Your mark," Melinda gestures, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of Bobbi's booked training time (Seriously, it's gotten to the point where she has to book out a time period to train in this gym that's too small for the amount of people at the base). Bobbi waits for May to finish the sentence, but apparently that actually was the sentence. She's raised an eyebrow at the blonde, and finally Bobbi gives in. She's been itching to talk about it, but she hadn't wanted to burden anyone.

 

She considers what to say, for a moment, and then decides that the start is probably a good place to begin if she wants to properly convey the state of mind she's in right now. She shrugs at May, acknowledging the...Question? Statement? and offers her a simple, "When I was twenty one, my soulmate tried to commit suicide," There's a small spark of something in May's eyes, and it doesn't surprise Bobbi that the one thing that actually affects Melinda May is mentions of soulmates. She's seen the scar tissue of May's own. When the older woman doesn't respond, Bobbi turns back to the mat, twirling her batons. "Then again, last year."

 

She catches on quickly. "They do it again?"

 

Bobbi shakes her head, "No, not this time. I just...Since that last time," She pauses, considering, "They've been so happy. For a really long time, just, up until about seven months ago. But it was alright, it wasn't bad, they were _dealing_. Now all I feel is misery and a whole lotta anxiety."

 

"You're waiting for it." May observes, subdued. "You know who they are?"

 

"No. God, I wish..." She trails off, shaking her head. "Not like I'd be able to leave the base anyway, what with all of this Hydra BS. But..."

 

"You feel helpless," May nods, and Bobbi tips her head in agreement.

 

May sticks around after that, and the two spar for a while to alleviate the tension in Bobbi's shoulders, to no avail. It only gets worse as the days go on, and not even Jemma, adorable disney princess that she is, can make her feel better. The girl's always smiling, and always trying to help everyone else to the best of her ability and Bobbi can't help but marvel at her, because she can't possibly be real. Nobody is this kind natured, surely, and yet when she shares her amazement with Skye, the other girl lets out a loud, barking laugh and grins.

 

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. She's pretty awesome, huh?" She says, with a wink that Bobbi almost doesn't catch, and she rolls her eyes.

 

"I've been down that path before, Skye. I'm not seeing anyone unless they're my soulmate, now." Hunter had been a mistake, and honestly, she liked to think that it was just because they weren't meant to be, rather than that they'd failed to make it work.

 

\--

 

Mack is insisting she come downstairs and play one of the first person shooters with himself and Fitz (Far Cry, she thinks he said) and she gives in because she could really use something, anything to take her mind off of the fact that all she's getting from her mark is burning hot anguish that was worse than ever before, literally nothing else. Her soulmate is not coping at all, and Bobbi again wonders how this has been going on for so long. Don't they have family? Friends? Why isn't anyone helping them?!

 

Jemma turns up in the doorway, and beams at Bobbi in a way that makes her heart flutter, holding two mugs and tentatively, holding one out to Fitz. As he's reaching for it, looking just as awkward and uncomfortable, Mack lurches to the side with his tongue sticking half way out of his mouth, his concentration causing him to be completely oblivious to the people on either side of him. The teacup that is midair is knocked from her hand and shatters on the ground, and the one cradled close to the brunette's chest sloshes all over her patterned sweater. Jemma's face drops, only slightly, but Bobbi thinks she catches her lip quiver before the scientist composes herself, flushed.

 

"You okay, sport?" She asks, fondness leaking heavily into her tone. "I...uh," She draws a blank, and Bobbi chuckles at how cute she manages to look, eyes darting around the room and unsure of what to say, cheeks lit up. She catches herself as the thoughts of kissing her flood her mind, and force them harshly away.

 

"I'm so sorry," And Mack does look genuinely apologetic, despite his very obvious dislike for the impossible not to like girl. Fitz looks concerned, and Bobbi would bet good money that he felt even worse than Mack did over it. He was a sweet kid, at heart.

 

 Mack takes off his jumper, an odd woolen thing that Bobbi knows for a fact his mother sent him, and holds it out to her. "Here, wear this,"

 

Jemma's smile is slow and wary, because she's not an idiot and she knows that Mack doesn't like her, that much is clear, but she takes the jumper.

 

"I'll...I'll make more," Fitz clears his throat, leg bouncing nervously, "One for, um, both of us," It's an olive branch, and Jemma nods her thanks as she reaches for the hem of her jumper, unintentionally pulling her blouse up a little of the ways.

 

Bobbi's breath catches in her throat and Mack pauses too, staring. They've known each other for years. Mack knows what her mark looks like. And they both know it's identical in location and design as the tight swirling black star embedded in the skin of Jemma's abdomen.

 

Bobbi opens her mouth, but then the reality of what exactly that means crashes down on her and she honestly thinks she might cry. She hasn't cried since she thought Mack was dead, and before that she hadn't cried for almost a year. This, though? This sends her right over the edge. Fitz has gotten up to get that tea, and Bobbi wants to hit him. She wants to hit all of them, fuck, she wants to hit herself. How the hell had they not seen this? How can she still not see it, as Jemma pulls Mack's jumper over her head and giggles at herself? (It's fake. it's all fake, she's so far from okay that it's not funny, and yet here she is giggling at how tiny she looks in Mack's jumper. Oh, god.).

 

Jemma meets her eyes, and the smile slides away. Bobbi moves her hand to her mark, and she feels it instantly. Concern. Jemma's worried about her. _Jemma's_ worried about _her._ She laughs, and it sounds slightly hysterical, especially when paired with the tears threatening to fall.

 

"Bobbi, are you alright?"

 

"Am I alright?" Bobbi echoes, frowning and blinking away the almost-tears.

 

"I think Fitz is going to need help with the tea," Mack excuses himself, glancing between them like they're all standing in a graveyard. it feels a bit like they are.

 

"Bobbi-" Jemma's eyebrows are knitting together in confusion and Bobbi lets out a breath and pulls her shirt up, revealing the matching mark to the tiny scientist. Jemma blinks for a moment, and then looks up at Bobbi with horror in her eyes. "I..."

 

"Don't you dare do it again," She wants it to sound like a command but it comes out as a plead. "God, Simmons, _why?_ "

 

The other girl physically flinches away, the facade finally dropped and she can see it now, those emotions she's been trying to hide so hardly, and then she whispers, "I'm sorry," So softly that Bobbi almost thinks she's imagined it. "Please don't say anything, I couldn't bear it if I got in the way,"

 

"I've watched my mark fade twice, Jemma. Twice. And believe me, we'll be talking about that, too. But I refuse to watch my mark disappear for good when there's something I can do to stop it. Especially...Especially since it's you."

 

 

Bobbi's fingertips on her mark tell her that Jemma's feeling self-conscious and a whole shit tonne of self loathing, and that just won't do. No, nope, no fucking way. So she kisses her. Which, yes, not her most well thought through plan but her lips taste like blueberry flavored lipgloss and her hair is so soft and she's at loathe to pull away, even if it is to guide Jemma's hand down to her own mark so she can feel how Bobbi feels, can feel how much she _cares_ and _wants_ and _needs_.

 

Jemma manages a watery smile, her eyes red with the tears that are building there. "I'm so sad, Bobbi." She murmurs finally, as if that wasn't the understatement of the century, as though Bobbi didn't already know exactly how sad she was. As if Bobbi hadn't felt them, and feared for her every minute of every day.

 

What she actually says, though, is, "I know, sport. I know." She kisses her again, and she can feel the wetness on Jemma's cheeks touching hers, and she's sure they look very strange, crying and kissing in the middle of the rec room, but she doesn't care. They're going to work through this, no matter what it takes.


End file.
